A Lost Leader eBook

“You are generous,” he said, “for
I suppose I am a deserter. As to where I shall
sit, it is very hard to tell. I fancy myself that
we are on the eve of a complete readjustment of parties.
Wherever I may find myself, however, it will scarcely
be with your friends.”

She nodded.

“I realize that, and I am sorry,” she
said. “All that we need is a leader, and
you might have been he. As it is, I suppose we
shall muddle along somehow until some one comes out
of the ruck strong enough to pull us together....
Come and see me in London, Lawrence. Who knows
but that you may be able to convert me!”

“You are too staunch,” he answered, “and
you have not seen what I have seen.”

She sighed.

“Didn’t you once tell me at Blakely that
politics for a woman was a mischosen profession—­that
we were at once too obstinate and too sentimental?
Perhaps you were right. We don’t come into
touch with the same forces that you meet with, and
we come into touch with others which make the world
seem curiously upside-down. Good-night, Lawrence!
I am going to my room quietly. Lady Redford wants
to play bridge, and I don’t feel like it! Bon
voyage!”

Mannering stood alone in the little courtyard, lit
now with hanging lights, and crowded with stray visitors
who had strolled in from the streets. The rest
of the party had gone into the salon beyond, and Mannering
felt curiously disinclined to join them. Suddenly
there was a touch upon his arm. He turned round.
Blanche was standing there looking up at him.
Something in her face puzzled him. Her eyes fell
before his. She was pale, yet as he looked at
her a flood of colour rushed into her cheeks.
His momentary impression of her eyes was that they
were very soft and very bright. She had thrown
off her wrap, and with her left hand was holding up
her white skirt. Her right hand was clenched as
though holding something, and extended timidly towards
him.

“I wanted to say good-night to you—­and—­there
was something else—­this!”

Something passed from her hand to his, something cold
and hard. He looked at her in amazement, but
she was already on her way up the grey stone steps
which led from the courtyard into the hotel, and she
did not turn back. He opened his hand and stared
at what he found there. It was a key—­number
forty-four, Premier etage.

CHAPTER X

BLANCHE FINDS A WAY OUT

Mannering was conscious of an overpowering desire
to be alone. He made his way out of the courtyard
and back to the promenade. Some of the lights
were already extinguished, and a slight drizzling rain
was falling. He walked at once to the further
wall, and stood leaning over, looking into the chaos
of darkness. The key, round which his fingers
were still tightly clenched, seemed almost to burn
his flesh.